mood: ecstatic

***

"What the hell are you doing, working on your birthday?" asked Kyle.
"Oh, they needed me. I have the next few days off though."
"Well that's good. You better celebrate."

Just then the boys from the install bay came up to turn in their keys. I noticed them with a bottle of that iced coffee stuff flavored with sugar and chocolate. Unopened.

mood: contemplative

There is a disco ball hanging

in the middle of it all

It will distract you into dancing

It will glisten

It will stall

Someone’s telling the newest recruit all about themselves when I overhear one of my pet peeves: repeating personal information like one-liners.

“I played football, but I’m really more like a teddy bear…”

Teddy bear. Dear Christ, I’ve already had to sit through this explanation during a one-on-one. He just killed all sentiment that data had.

I text the girl next to me and we make fun of how narcissistically hot this fire is between the two men.

You and me could write a bad bro-mance.

She texts back, an amazing multi-tasker in the middle of her own group conversation:

Girl u funny. Ba-ba-bad bro-mance, ba-ba-bad bro-mance.

Whenever I flip through her phone there are hordes of photo collections where she’s touching up in front of a bathroom mirror at a club or pursing her lips at a table, always surrounded by a respectively large entourage of other beautiful girls all doing the exact same thing. It makes me wonder how awfully boring this must seem compared to her typical nightlife. I wonder if she thinks my name is Girl, but not really.

I can’t shake the feeling of despair as my mind wanders from big screen to big screen and the disco ball I’ve never really noticed until tonight. If it was my choice, I would definitely be sitting on the upper level at one of those tables that looks out over us. Right there. That’s where I wish I was sitting.

“Girl, I have some dirty things in my purse right now.”

This is an invite for me to pry but I’m lacking some inner sense of excitement. Halfheartedly I snatch her bag and peer inside at the jumbled mess of shit she totes around. I spot the underwear and hold it up high enough that it should be embarrassing to her, but she doesn’t even push my hand back down.

“No, not that!”

I’m future surfing. My mind is fast forwarding through the brains of everyone there, accessing the bullet points and manila folder tabs, evaluating where this is going. I’ve already given her the purse back.

Owns home, zip code scenario, fire pit in the back yard.

I can see a bunch of us prepping drinks in plastic cups, in the kitchen on the way to the bonfire, one of the boys in mid-laughter over some thing or another…

“This!” she just has to explain, tipping her bag so I can see a pink plastic nub tethered to something silver.

As everyone keeps on talking I fall out of conversation until they’re all a murmur around me, a hum that should be comforting but isn’t.

These delicate appetizers, all half-off, now only moderately overpriced, they begin to lose their flavor. My girlfriend wants to know why my little saucer plate has the same handful of chips since the previous hour. I tell her, it just tastes different.

“Why?”

I find a simple answer.

“Maybe cuz it got cold,” I say, and we both look into the artichoke dip. It doesn’t stop her. She plunges in another bit of salty tortilla and shoves it into her mouth.

What goes unsaid is that I’ve helped to start something. Louie is in love with the idea of founding a weekly co-worker get-together because the energy from that makes him feel like a big shot. The only problem with this is that it’s becoming a major turn-off, the bigger it gets. I got on the guest list. Realized a situation. Information is repeating. My work is done.

I suppose it’s for the best.

“I think I’m over it,” I lean over and say into her ear. She, of course, has no idea what I’m talking about. She doesn’t have to. I’m her ride and she’ll follow me if she wants to get home.

Thank you, conglomerate of group-date mixed media scapegoats.

Thank you, disco ball.

As we were leaving early, Louie noted the empty bar stools as if the audience had gotten a little bit smaller. Then he looked up. My wave goodbye said nothing is wrong.

Don’t worry. Nothing is wrong. It’s just time to go.

I get a courtesy text less than an hour later.

Thank you for coming out tonight.

I have never, ever, gotten a thank you note from him for a text. Nor have I ever not replied, but there is a distance that must be traveled between certain stars that, far enough apart, looks like a flight into quiet darkness for a while.

Here’s to the new direction.

mood: disappointed

Across the back of a checklist for inspecting the power lifts at work, I scribbled in black ink:

- continue maintenance of the grounds

- reassemble court

- put the king on a strict diet

Those things are so much more easily declared than carried out.

***

Faith points to the dirt on my shoes and says, “It looks like the queen is leaving at night. But why?”

“What am I doing?” I ask myself on the way home from the sports bar. How many times am I going to wave my credit in front of the waiters' face, knowing that the men will never allow me to pay?

How many more times have I got left, to act like I don’t notice that one of them has regularly taken to the stool on my left side?

“Not gonna lie,” he says before anything similar to a confession. And I think, ‘not gonna lie’. Isn’t that a bold statement.

I hate it when they break from the jokes to ask me a personal question. I hate it even more when something personal slips out.

“So like, what kind of gardening do you do?”

“How do you know I garden?”

“Uhhh, you told me last week?”

“And you actually listened? That’s incred-Wait a minute, I get it,” I catch on, and fold my hands neatly. Turning my head to the side, looking like a sappy lending ear, I say in my fake caring voice, “What do you want to talk about?”

He laughs.

 “You’ve never been there?” he asks about some place down the street or some blocks over.

“I told you, I’m not from here!”

And he always says, about the arcade, or the restaurant, or what-have-you,

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Like there is no reason for a good time to end. And when I sit with them there, staring down the length of the steel while they tell competing tales and share the absurdities in their lives, not gonna lie, I am never entirely ready to say when.

“When is your birthday, Autumn?”

“Forget it. If it’s anything about her-“

“Wait, when is your birthday?! Isn’t it coming up? Are you gonna have a party?”

“Nice deflection,” he says to me, and looks at me again once I have successfully changed the topic. I pull on the strings to my hood as if it should never have come off.

Maybe there are no good excuses for lowering the draw bridge.

Maybe there are no knights of round tables.

Or, maybe, they now sit at one long bar.

Sometimes we talk for so long that the place closes and makes us take slow steps outside.

“I laughed so hard at this music video. If you want, we could probably hop in my truck and I could show you on my phone.”

I look across the rainy parking lot at the vehicle sitting there. The doors that close. The simple invitation from that bar stool on my left.

No matter how disconnected or uncertain life can get,

I find it makes the most sense to never forget about being Queen.

“I’ve got to get going. Thank you for letting me hang out with you guys again.”

“Have a good night.”

And later, on my phone:

I hope you made it home ok.

If I didn’t, this ghost gets text messages.

Either they have no idea that two beers are hardly worth the cost, or they know the journey I take to get back to my kingdom.

Someday, I tell myself, it will all come together. And a pen name won’t matter, what trail I leave, or what makes my heart beat. The mediums will collide, the anti-glare will turn to flesh, everyone will get along and the

Spell

Will

Be

Broken

mood: thoughtful

'Cue Hologram': I’ve been saying this during seemingly random times throughout the new year. If there’s something I can’t reach, something I can’t deal with properly, I involve a preserved version of whoever I’m not currently speaking to.

Sitting at the kitchen table, staring into my bowl of oatmeal. Lying in bed, watching the demon in the door. You never know when it’s all going to matter a little too much.

“Cue hologram.” It's the only part I say out loud.

***

Nicole is standing at the end of the table, in the middle of my house, wearing the same lime green coat she wore when we decorated Christmas charger plates. She is bubbly, a big, goofy smile.

“Go ahead and take a seat.”

Her face goes from careless to concerned. “Is everything ok?”

“You get married. After everything we talked about and all the things that happen, you suddenly get engaged. It confused me. It didn’t go like I thought it would. You were going through a lot. I didn’t even go.”

“You weren’t there!?”

You shake your head ‘no’ at the imaginary girl in green.

“Sometimes you hated him. Sometimes you hated the friends you’d known forever. I realize that I was never immune to your tendency to take sides….  rather than me hating all of your stupid friends with you, it was all of your stupid friends hating me. That put me in a really uncomfortable position. It made me not want to go.”

Even hologram Nicole nods. Her release might be old but she has been at her game for a while.

“You should have gone, anyway! You weren’t there at my mother’s funeral, either! So how highly was I ever supposed to think of you, you know?”

I know. I had my hangups. I got overwhelmed. I just kept working right through the visitation hours. Not a single manager asked me if I wanted to clock out early and I just kept on pretending.

“I had your magnet invite on my refrigerator the moment it was out of the envelope. But one day I just cut all the words off the bottom and only put your picture back. Then I couldn’t talk to you because I wasn’t going, and you didn’t talk to me. After a long silence, after the date was over, Brad pulled the magnet off and threw it away.”

“Oh my God, you idiot!” Hologram Nicole yells. She sparks, fading in and out like blinking lights.

“Am I happy?” Now the hologram is taking advantage of its special situation.

Just how real can you be with a fantasy?

“What if I tell you that your reception hall will have a low drop ceiling?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Never mind. Yes. You’re happy. You don’t get to where you want to be, personally, before you’re married. But you’re happy anyway.”

You almost think it cares on its own when the eyebrows go up, “Are we ever gonna hang out, again?”

Aww.

“I really like this hologram of you. I wish what I had to offer it was actuality. Beyond me.”

“I AM REAL! I’m still alive! TELL ME you had this weird hallucination! Just trust me! I’m sure a lot of people don’t make it to my wedding. I’m not hating all of them forever.”

But what about all of the impossibilities? The difficult places we put each other in, the things we both know? The ways that it hurt other people? How do you comeback from all of that and make it fit?

Nicole’s expression fades, along with the rest of her. A few more days go by. Out of the blue I get a text on my phone from the real Nicole.

I had a dream that we were at Circuit City and it was pouring rain. You had an umbrella so we went outside and you were going to keep us dry. The umbrella had a giant hole and we got drenched. We just laughed hysterically. It. Was. Epic.

/Smile.

End Trans.

mood: sympathetic

A bar called something like Charlie’s or Jordan’s, one of those names that a girl had better be hot enough to pull off, is just a couple of streets down from where I live. Half American bar and half Japanese restaurant, the potential of sushi with domestic beer is enough to get just about anyone to walk through the door.

Once you know her, though, you learn that Sam is not as hot as she initially sounds. 

Her beer has the strangest smell, half bacterial and half soapy.  The lighter the ale, the more bitter the taste. I was just there and after apologizing for assumed “wacky taste buds” and switching brands several times I asked if I was the only difficult drinker.

“No. A lot of people say the same thing. We’ve tried everything. We thought the temperature of the beer was fluctuating, we cleaned the lines…we just can’t figure it out.”

Poor Casey. Poor Billie Joanne. She’s gonna have to work twice as hard.

mood: tired

Exhaustion has hit hard. I knew it would; I suddenly have more work hours than I’m used to and I am putting more effort into them than when I took my professional life day-by-day. It concerns me when I find myself day dreaming about crawling under the comforter. A bigger concern, as I clock the hours I’ve slept and find myself creeping up to 9, 10 of them before I have the energy to get up.

I’ve been alone for the better part of a week. Without any time off to clean, I cannot help but entertain the thought that time has stopped. The cluttered messes still on counter tops, the kitchen sink leaking a slow drip onto a dirty pan, otherwise-empty beds and no one using up a ton of toilet paper, I imagine this is what a ghost would feel like if such a thing actually existed - a ghost of its own dwelling. Maybe my body didn’t make it home.

This ghost feeds house pets.

There is a certain kind of on-going problem that I’ve avoided until recently.  It’s to that point where the thing just won’t go away, won’t remedy itself.  I’m beginning to diagnose the symptom. Not that I am prepared to undergo several surgical exams or anything like that – what are a bunch of curious thoughts? What harm could one short paragraph do? One or two little spots of blood, ever so often?

An incredible lightning storm passed through a few nights ago. I programmed some electronica onto a music player, kept the volume low and opened the blinds to both bedroom windows. Whenever the rain pelted too loudly I would stir in bed, get anxious and wonder how far away a tornado could be heard.

Something about the power of the storm was a relief to me. Seeing the lights flashing from multiple directions, it looked like someone was making war. And maybe, just maybe, they were fighting for that “us” I try so hard to grasp and maintain. The idea of that is what finally made my eyelids heavy as the animals came in close and nestled down.

My noble friends were out there, somewhere, in their best armor.

mood: curious

Work itself is a pretty big game – one that amuses me for now.  And within the game I spotted all of these little games going on.  Games to get ahead, games to get through the day, games galore. With nothing informational to rule me out, I qualified to play every single one.

Grabbing a network flyer from the cabinet door, I let an emblem peek out ever-so-slightly from the top of my clipboard. Then I rushed by the right people. They definitely noticed and pretended not to. I noticed them noticing. And I just smiled. Not only is it development and networking – it’s a social science, a door to a world that I can study when their corporate viewpoint begins to repeat itself on the overhead projections.

I’m also in a business metrics course because I was nominated and chosen for it. I imagine it’s going to turn out being a lot like the employee network only without demographic jargon or event sponsorship. Only nitty gritty numbers.

Then there is the community service, the voluntary acts I’m only paid for in dry-erase markers that say “thank you, Autumn!” beside our time given and awards earned. Last week I was standing at City Hall, eating finger food in the hallway while trying to make small talk with strangers. It was a butt to fill a seat so everyone could clap for each other and circulate plaques. I aced it.

The highest machine looks down from above. It tilts, it pans, it zooms. A company so well-run, so high on adrenaline, that it has managed to keep me productive and alert. Who knew I’d be so good at spotting mischief?

That camera would have a pretty good idea, being there from the start.

Don’t forget about the actual people. When there aren’t enough work hours in a day to build proper rapport with everyone around me, there is a bar across the street. The lot of us have earned our own tab name as we sit under dim lighting before a stainless steel bar and go on and on about computers and the systems that run internally.

The first time my dinner and drink was paid for, I was flattered. The second and third, I began to wonder… if any of it, the notional margin, the papers, the alarms, the groups, the slowly-amounting verbal communication… really matters to me.

It certainly seems to, to them.

Although there is still plenty to achieve I find myself already asking…

Will I always be just playing?

mood: enthralled

When someone comes in to the building with over-sized clothes or accessories I make note of it. It’s not a matter of taste or style, or color or sex – it’s the perfect opportunity that concerns me.  Shopping bags, after all, can be worn and used to steal.

One gentleman in particular had a large, puffy coat that I really liked for the vibrant red color. I didn’t pay much attention to him (after all, it was chilly out so most people are gonna dress appropriately). It was a bit uncommon to see a man holding two big fistfuls of DVDs as he made his way around, but ‘uncommon’ is not a problem.

He had a few WWE titles and some horror movie called Rubber, among other things.

After he made his purchases, like a lot of other people, he pulled a hat over his head to prepare for the outside weather. I recognized an emblem on it for Physchopathic Records which is why my gaze lingered. It always amuses me to see a ‘juggalo’. Not only am I educated in their music - a proud fan is often passionate and living in their own culture of the dark carnival.

Then I realized something at the very last second, as he was actually facing me on his way out. The eyelids, the cheeks, the lips. Instantly familiar. This wasn’t a fan.

It was Violent J without any face paint on.

As he stopped to look at the candy machines in our vestibule, I was bubbling up. I said to the nearest employee, “Pretty sure I just told Violent J to have a good one.”

“Violet J?” She mispronounced, “Who is that??” and walked over to speak to him. He was vague, ‘yeah, I tour with a group’, etc.

“I had no idea – she’s the one who knew who you were,” said Leia, pointing to me. J looked back inside.

I smiled, waved, said something like “Hi, I just, I’ve never seen you before. Awww! That’s cool. Thank you.”

He thanked us and turned away. The automatic doors closed.

“Gurrrrrl?!?! You see how he looked at me? You know he likes the black girls!” Lei shouted, throwing her arms up, doing a little dance.

“Bitch, I might be ugly, 'least I ain’t got no muh-ney!” I quoted in a sudden urban accent.

“What?? Is that what he says?” she asked, laughing.

I nodded, as the fun ridiculousness of that entire genre came flooding back.

mood: nauseated

My workplace has been running video of attempted theft at our store. It’s a “watch the footage and point out all the things wrong with this picture” exercise. No sales people, calls for help and no one moving, etc. In the example being shown, management responds to my broadcast and we save the day but, ideally, they want every team member to deter theft with customer contact.

“You’ve been a superstar all week.”

I joked to my boss, “I didn’t know I ever wasn’t one.”

***

Last night, two people caught my eye as they looked at a Pioneer CD receiver in carfi. It was something about the way they were all alone, hovered over the box that had been difficult to reach, looking back and forth at each other that interested me.

They had two small children who appeared to be disabled. Their skin didn’t look healthy – they had dark blotches, visible veins in their face, like they were sick. I see things like that sometimes, and my heart hurts. There are just so many ways that people are given individual struggles, unfair disadvantages, that I can’t rationalize.

The shopping cart was one of those shaped like a car to interest children in remaining seated. I watched the product start in the top basket of the cart. Then it disappeared behind a bulky corner of the store so I paged my team and saw the couple emerge with the box resting in another position. After a continued stroll through dark, unoccupied areas (calling out for contact again), they strolled up to the front door and their box appeared to be gone.

They paused before attempting to exit and looked at each other in those subtle ways that I can almost hear like conversation.

Looking toward me, I could tell they were trying to pick up on whether or not I was paying attention. I caught a glimpse of the red and white box, now nestled in between the children’s car seats. I purposely looked in the opposite direction and hummed a cheerful tune like I didn’t have a care in the world.

The female positioned herself to block my view and the male slowly pushed the cart past check-out.

I stepped in front of them, so close to the doors that they automatically opened, and thanked them for coming in with a great big, oblivious smile.

“And your kids are just beaut-OH, Did You Want To Pay For That?” I asked, and pointed at the item.

“Ohhhhh. We forgot that was” was really all I remember hearing, as I kept smiling and insisting everything was hunky-dory. While my mouth moved, I bent down and wrestled with the product, focused only on getting it back. I didn’t want my voice to match the assertion it took to alter a plan in motion.

We made small talk about how times were hard. The man said he didn’t have a job. Blah blah blah, this fucking box is really in here…

I was still telling the little kids how adorable they were as I jerked that thing out from between them.

Sometimes there are more things wrong with the picture than I dare say.

mood: thoughtful

First-hand experience has taught me that when people stop coming around but insist they haven’t gone anywhere, there’s more to it than that. They’re gone because something is changing. Things are different. And either you level with the other person before it’s too late or barrel forward until you can never come back.

Dear Diary, something has changed. Things are different.

And I took the time today, to let someone important know what I was dealing with. It wasn’t easy, getting the chance to explain, and once I had the opportunity I almost didn’t take it because the game of catch-up sounded like another chore on my list. Thankfully I can recognize my own patterns, how shutting people out is only chemicals swirling, and I didn’t let negative vibes influence my determination.

I took a breath, thought about what I had to say and shared a relevant part of my life with someone who matters a lot. It didn’t take long to find the words and once I had them I returned to an exciting place where people connect and dreams are realized. It was a spark I had been going without, that I’d temporarily sacrificed so I could be better at more trying challenges.

She knew, I believe, that I wasn’t going to be gone long. I like to think that she knows how much self-worth I put into the code of sisterhood. She’s a smart girl; she knew that something was up and hoped that I would bring back enough good dish for the both of us.

I did, indeed.

Only I am not entirely sure how I can share it without getting into trouble for my troubles. It’s not good to live in secrets and silence. My sister cautioned me about this, and she said, “Make up the names. Use animals if you have to.”

I laughed. She has The Bull, a raging mafia fuck who stampedes through her life, messing it up at the brink of perfection.

A long time ago, when I was still building my beliefs, someone quoted me a song. Its declaration was sworn by death to be the very message they brought. That was when every column stood up and towers stayed tall. Before the ivy found its way into the stone, before my life was a story to tell.

Back when being queen came naturally. Because, you know, there was nothing at stake.

I’ve never heard the song myself because I don’t care for easy listening. And I can’t say that the messenger lived up to the words. I remember them, though. I decided that it was how I would treat people. How I would set my course.

My dearest moon sister,

Everything is fucking crazy right now. I don’t know what the big picture is going to look like in another few months. But you can be sure...

You are there

And my life changes with you

mood: relieved

I spent the day off cleaning up my house. I would have liked to piss away the hours on more non-productive things but there were too many signs that it was time to go to work. I couldn’t find a clean spoon, had to really smash the garbage down to throw anything away and I was tired of stepping over dirty clothes on the floor. In my natural fashion, I made an obsessive marathon of it and didn’t stop until after dark.

There was another apprehension at work, only the guy pushed some of us around and fled with a Kindle down his pants. I got a clear shot of his plate and the police put a warrant out for his arrest.  All of this ruckus with shoplifters has really brought everyone together as a team and it’s changing the entire culture for the better.

At one point an employee from computers, high on the buzz from having helped get someone, ran up to me and I expected a high-five. Instead he put his hand out so I grabbed it. He squeezed my fingers.  That moment meant a lot to me.  

I was nominated to take some management program. It’s kind of a big deal and I’m flattered but I haven’t even been there six months. Things are moving awfully fast. I sort of just want to continue to develop my skills and figure out what’s going on but it sounds like I might be having crash courses in generating sales and all the rest of that stuff.

The seeds I’m sowing are slow to grow, but are growing. Every few days I sit in an old computer chair under the basement stairs and rotate little cups. I spray water onto soil when it’s dry and look at each type of seedling to see how it has changed and what it wants. Soil, oxygen, moisture, light – it’s a tricky game and hard to believe that I can get the sort of end result that I want. But I feel like, if I can take tiny seeds and turn them into flowering plants that are going to thrive outside my home this year then I will be one awesome mother fucker.

My first charity event took place last week. Work sponsors an educational program that helps troubled students get back on track and awards them with a ceremony at the country club. We presented the kids with gift certificates and expected to do some catering but instead we were treated to our own table at the banquet! For being part of the audience we got fed sandwiches and fresh fruit. I had coffee from a fancy teacup and applauded a lot.

There are a lot of little things that amuse me, lately. I got a Happy Meal the other day and it came with a tomboy My Little Pony which I promptly hung from my rear view mirror. Her rainbow colored hair will be just the sort of impression I need to give when people are out on their smoke breaks, staring at my car. Springsteen’s new album is taking over and that’s fun to hear… I recently had the realization that there was nothing majorly wrong with life for the moment – no stomach-turning obstacle in the way of feeling decent.

I gotta go with it.

***

On the Other Side, 8 Hours Later

I haven’t been able to shake this feeling, like a strong wind from any direction could make or break me. My boyfriend hears me out, understanding that I know the difference between how I ought to feel on any given day and how sensations seem to rush through me despite logic. When that breeze comes, I might suddenly be in tears.

Recently I was perched in my plush Victorian chair, sitting beside the fireplace, and it wasn’t so much the fact that I caught myself staring at the hanging light above the foyer that alarmed me; the physical sensation of a beer buzz, of not feeling sound on the ground, is what made the open gawking so unsettling.

“How long has this been going on?” Nick the Twin asked, interested enough.

“Over a month now.”

“Any change in diet? Any drastic changes?”

“I ran out of multivitamins and never bought more. Could it be a deficiency?”

“Possibly. When was your last physical?”

“I probably haven’t seen a doctor in over ten years.”

“It’s time.”

Having run out of deodorant I had to run up to the pharmacy this morning, a quick jaunt with my dogs in the car. My new steering wand was installed perfectly, a late night $100 fix via Brad after I had oddly snapped the damn thing off while driving, reasoned “at least the radio still works” and put it out of my mind, phantom-flipping the rest of the way with my left hand.

When I pulled into the lot and stepped out, a cop car zipped up beside me.

“Do you know you have a brake light out?”

As I was thanking him my idiot pug rushed right out in front of us and pranced around the lot with her winter weight jiggling, a mindless bitch asking to be run down.

“SHIT” I said, without thinking, and I tossed my keys and ID into the cop’s passenger side window to chase after her.

Utter and total incompetence.

I got the dog back. Reached back into the cop car, which was surprisingly full of files, and grabbed my stuff back.

“You okay?”

Yeah,

Yeah.

“Yeah. Sorry. Thanks.”

That thin line might always be thin and I might be walking it for the rest of my life.

So be it.

mood: accomplished

Pulling at the straps of the anti-theft devices as if testing their tightness, a man continued to survey the flow of employees. He knew right where to break the plastic clasps on the back of those Dre Beat Headphones and SNAP, SNAP, SNAP, he suddenly had three pair free. In an effort to deter this guy I radioed to every employee for assistance.

My coworkers kept right on selling electronics. No one budged from their sale stacking, payment branding pitches. Their zones are more precious to them than any drama I have going on.

He crouched down and began to conceal the first bulky box under his shirt. No way would he go unnoticed as he walked around. Some people only need to go unseen long enough to grab their heart’s desire and make a run for it.

“Sir, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Uh, no.”

“Those look like spider wraps lying on the ground. Are you holding something?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Do something for me. Go ahead and just stand up.”

He stands.  There is no way to act like the giant box on his chest isn’t there. Customers around him are pulling their children back, leading them away from the terrible idea.

mood: sad

My neighbor Frank was a bit younger than my dad. The two of them shared a love for family, friends, their Michigan home and rock & roll. Frank would always call into radio stations under different alias’ (Dick The Bruiser, Craven Morehead) and request the songs by artists from Detroit. His characters often got air time – they were all obviously Frank, and they always got a laugh.

I remember being invited over for winter grill-outs. Dad would share stories about Viet Nam, the radio would play oldies and Frank would look on with respect in his eyes. If he ever came over to see us when no one was home he’d leave a few bottles of beer on the stairs.  I often heard Frank playing his drums late into the night, as people out in the country are able to do, and I remember one evening in particular when I stepped onto the back porch and heard the audio from a porno being blasted from his outdoor speakers. It was loud, it was Frank, it made sense.

I always sang my heart out on the swing set in my back yard. I wish every kid could feel the freedom of singing at the top of their lungs without having to worry about a thing for miles.

By the time I reached high school your career really started to take off and Frank was all about it. He ran a fan club for one of Leonard Skynyrd’s touring acts and backing vocals, Carol Chase. One year for Christmas instead of the usual greeting card Frank sent photos of him smiling ear to ear beside a busty ex-blonde of yours.  Eventually the beer bottles he’d bring over had your own BadAss label. Kid Rock was a sound and a brand he believed in so he made you a big part of his life.

After finally getting to attend one of your house parties, he talked nonstop about it for months on end.

Funny thing was, your music was just noise to my poor old dad. Whenever Frank put your CD on it was always time to walk back home.  I think Frank understood why a DAV tuned out after MTV turned on, but once he discovered your music he never stopped trying to make my dad believe like he did -  that rock & roll was still around.

As for me, I started to look over from the swing set onto his property, wondering if I shouldn’t sing so loud anymore because you never knew: “Kid Rock might be over there and I wouldn’t want him catching me singing anything uncool.”

You became this weird, unknown-but-present part of my life. That was nearly ten years ago.

Today I got a phone call from my family back home. They said that Frank had been walking his dogs when he suffered a sudden heart attack, collapsed onto the ground and died. The news was so unsettling. I’d gotten used to the sound of distant drums into early morning hours and the idea of grilled steak in the snow.  I thought he’d always own the hilly driveway that I had coasted down on my bicycle - that he would permanently be one house away and perhaps, even, at my own dad’s funeral.

Now it is all suddenly gone. And I realize, with much regret, that it means you are, too. You will never “possibly” be next door again.

Goodbye, Mr. Rock.  I am going to miss you both.

Love,
Autumn May

Additional Notes: If this seemed to come out of left field, you haven't been on the long ride. Under the cut, previously published material circa 2002-2004. See also, the name drop of 2006.

mood: determined

Over at my gardening journal I’ve been sowing seeds for ten days: ten days of experimenting, installing, worrying, planting and watering. Growing from seed has shown me just how impatient I am. And dumb. Although I try to be well-informed it still feels like I’m stumbling through the dark under 100 watts.

I have the most basic plans today. My end of the CD exchange is finally going out in the mail – for real, this time – so be on the lookout for a reused bubble envy sealed with pink duct tape! Just like the last edition that went out an era past, this one is riddled with live tidbits of me and includes my brother on voice mail.

There is a sandwich at Jimmy Johns that has guacamole and bean sprouts which I am craving, so I will grab that along with a movie and chill for a spell. Then I’m going to throw the tennis ball around and make my pups run like crazy before I give them baths.  

It’s all about chasing after that happy feeling. How I love a good day to myself!

mood: grateful

I walked around a craft store on my day off and came up with an idea for an inspiring display using items that were on sale. With a charger plate, a block of Styrofoam, some flowers, a teacup container and a candle I assembled this:

And it really brightens things up. I love a good tea cup. It still needs a satin blow tied to the handle but I refused to overpay for ribbon.

As it turns out, during the most recent bought of depression I was actually sick; the late symptoms of a tender throat and stuffy head are showing now. Battling the discomfort with salty broth, I’ve been managing okay. My body heated up last night, trying to boil the virus to death by fever. I welcome every effort to make this go away.

“Winter is always hard on us, you know?” I said to Brad. He replied, “Winter is always hard on you [and therefore hard on us].” I think he must have forgotten being the one to suggest this idea first, when summarizing some of the difficulties that have challenged our relationship [and lost].

Valentines Day, as ever, was a success. From a brown paper bag I produced valentines for coworkers. I was also awarded my little badges for the investment in my personal development. To boot, I aced my evaluation and will be featured on some display about shrink awareness along with a few other people who were selected to represent inventory. People congratulated me all day.

Brad came home with flowers that look very pretty on an otherwise-bare surface. I have finally managed to put the remainder of Christmas décor away (February, I think that’s one sorry record) but have yet to have each room in order for warmer weather. The bouquet is especially appreciated and I find an unusual fondness for the baby’s breath that pokes out between roses.

I’ve noticed the gain of daylight from winter solstice. Every little bit helps in this period of longing.

I keep dreaming of a state of things in which all is in order and more easily attainable. Until then I’m going to keep hacking away, ever-so-slowly, getting myself together.

mood: blank

(From left to right, how the day began.)

Yesterday I sat at my desk, spinning an explanation titled The Britney Thing and I got about halfway down the page before a cord to my very spirit was unplugged. I re-opened my eyes and asked myself what the hell was going on. It eventually occurred to me: that stupid little allergy pill.

I do this thing, for better or worse, where I raid the cupboards for supplements fortified with things that will give me a boost. Or maybe just be for the better. Multi-vitamin, vitamin C, Dayquil, aspirin, fiber – these are usually what I have to choose from after I’ve run out of the regular stuff. Which is a form of ephedrine.  It comes from always feeling tired, always struggling with chemicals and feeling like I’m never getting whatever ingredient that normal people must produce in greater quantity.

I saw a pink box for allergies and thought: I had to blow my nose like three times this morning. That could clear me up, clear me out, clarity. Actually, no – soon after the initial buzz I felt that awful tsunami pushing through until it took over completely.

I was so upset because there were so many things I’d wanted to accomplish within my house and myself. I needed time to groom obsessively, trimming nails, shaving peach fuzz, plucking eyebrows and other scrutinizing modifications from the horror of my natural self left to nature.  And dammit, I’d wanted to read my Dear Diary so I could take in everyone’s world and share my thoughts because it has been so hard finding the time to contribute. I would hate for anyone to think that I didn’t care – but there I was, crashing back over the bed, angry with myself.

It was a feeling of alienation. In my head I saw everything pulled away to a far distance and I was stuck with the absolute opposite of what I’d wanted to be.  I was alone.

A few hours later I woke even without the comfort of having myself, and that worried me. I asked myself what I wanted to eat and the answer was: no food is really good. Then I asked what of the things I love to do, did I want to do first and I said: none of that matters. Well then what about the responsibilities? I answered: I feel no inclination to do any of those things. Stupid.

Uh oh.

For a while I just stood on the wooden floorboards between rooms, waiting for a brain signal.

When I finally decided to feel the sun outside, it felt like light falling over a dead battery. Everything I drove by, that I’ve known for so long, was strange. The very definitions of the buildings almost changed and yet stayed on some brink where I merely marveled and said inside:  something is not normal.

Be careful not to alter the course of history.

Fast forward to the late night when the day was spent. Brad came into the bedroom where I was curled up with a space heater hitting my legs, listening to foreign Japanese CDs through a small boom box.

“Are you feeling okay?”

I felt embarrassed not to be, as I have ever and always sympathized with my long-suffering boyfriend. He is so innocent. Every intention is good. His love reminds me of my love.

The previous day he had spent his time off taking down the Christmas tree, wrapping up little ornaments with phone book pages like I normally do, when I’d gone walking by and must have sighed. He had to ask, “Are you sad.” And he asked in that way that I knew meant: have I messed up again and missed keeping you happy?

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d just gotten tired, like I was now. Scattered over the place, having spilled forth from a huge pink bag were stationary sets about a panda that eats chocolate and turns brown. Erasers shaped like desserts. Scissors with pointed handles and a red bow to one side, the blades joined by a heart that only Hello Kitty Scissors have. And there she was, Miss Kitty, dressed as a geisha, kneeling on a satin pillow in her pretty kimono. Apparently I had come up with some ideas for happiness and no way had any of this shit been cheap.

 “It’s okay,” he continued. “I unclogged the sink.”

The bar. The leftovers. The chunks.

I covered my face with my hand.

Sometime after I had fallen asleep Brad came in and scooped up the discs with photos of men and women that I had been glad were unknown, different, singing words that I was content with being unable to translate. He cleared off the bed and went to sleep next to me.

I felt him hold my hand.

mood: determined

My loss prevention position is going well. Today I received the good news that, because I had independently completed so much online training, I earned some sort of gold badge.  The head boss asked if she could present it in front of everyone else.  She wants the other associates in different positions to strive for the same thing. First of all, I thought those little rewards were just virtual benchmarks and secondly, there are people who have worked there for years and I’m the first person to dive into that company’s virtual program and pass it. Talk about major recognition! So, half proudly and half a corny cog in the machine I will be fixing a badge to my blouse every day.

I’m good as long as they don’t dress me up like a cop, like the last place did. It was nearly impossible to stop thieves when kids were clinging to your uniform, telling their parents to get a photo. If I start earning a Maglite and shiny shoes we’re going to have a problem.

One of the sales reps noted my rate of acceleration and asked if he could recruit me. Tonight I thanked him for the opportunity and told him that I would give it serious thought. As much as that flatters me and as much as I want to learn new things, I am looking in a different direction.  The sales floor is another world and I will have to politely explain how I see my career path.

Another cool thing about this place is that it has a community committee that meets every month to decide how we can volunteer for charity. I have decided to take part in that for personal growth.

There is still work to be done, despite my achievements. Tonight one of the showcase keys went missing and was just the sort of thing that I should always be on top of. Imagine trying to prove yourself without having the proof! I looked into it and discovered that the key had gotten lost on my day off – which is better than being responsible – but that lack of communication is a serious problem. I took a deep breath, meditated on it and decided to propose a solution.

It’s all part of doing better.

mood: awake

Updated, to save space, with the dreams of last night 1/31-2/01

Last night I was on a rooftop. I looked across the cityscape and saw a blonde hacker looking back. Happy, I told him that something awful in me had been lifted – that I was free to live in a way that always seemed right.

He answered, talking loudly over the wind, “Autumn, you love everyone.”

And it was a question of ‘normal’, of ‘right’, where ideals are relative.

Underwater, I dug in the sand for treasure. A sea creature turned a small squid upside down, looked at the dangly bits and said, “Her mother’s tits?”

I thought, “This thing is kind of crass.”

Back on land, over grey commercial-thin carpet strolled a mother-son couple just as they had in real life the day before.  Arm in arm, he was very tall and used a red stick. His clothes were smart, plaid jacket, gentleman’s hat, nothing like how a typical 20-30 year old man would dress. And his hair was creeping over his ears, likely kept in general by the woman who brought him into town.

Oddly attracted to him, I had asked myself if it was a sort of pity that drew me near. I reasoned, well of course I wish that he could see, but considering him right now I’d say his world is really rather occupied.

Seeing him again in this strange air, I ran up and kissed him on the mouth with everything I thought was beautiful about him and explained, as I walked away,

“Something your mother can’t give you.”

My journal loaded like an atmosphere and I wrote something to my friend quiet_exchange in raspberry tones that ended with:

No matter where we stand,

I will always devour you with my right hand.

What the heck I meant by that is anyone’s guess but I think it had to do with accepting her in goodness.

Then I was guarding an alleyway of red brick, much like I guard the vestibule at work when something shady is going on. I felt one of my teeth come loose and it shocked the hell out of me. Reaching in my mouth to confirm the horror, I was devastated.

I had just lost a permanent tooth! How? What do I do now, oh shit oh shit. Then I started spitting teeth. I spoke out loud to a few random onlookers.

“This can’t be happening; it doesn’t make any sense. No way am I losing my teeth! This is terrible. PLEASE, let me just wake up, this sucks so much.”

I wasn’t waking up.

“What if I’m in some car crash right now, and I don’t remember going out? Something could be happening to me. I DON’T HAVE DENTAL COVERAGE RIGHT NOW!”

Flailing my hands worked. I was wide-eyed in bed, looking at the ceiling fan, with much to remember.

mood: enthralled

If you missed it, I'm doing a snail-mail CD Mix Exchange HERE. Still accepting participants!

***

Last night I got home from a long shift at work and Brad suggested we go out for dinner because neither of us had eaten. On a bit of a comical whim we decided on Denny’s. The drunk youth was there, true to stereotype, and our meals also maintained the standard as they were blegh. Tired and laughing, we ate until we were full, just happy to be together for a midnight meal.

I was about to fall into bed for my shift the next morning when Brad asked, “Where did the camera go?”

I remembered taking it from the foyer table so I told him that I “put it away”. I wondered why he wanted it and asked, “What, is there a photo shoot of you with your new haircut?”

So I went into the reading room, which is what he had been trying to get me to do since I got home. And there on the desk was a big-ass prezzie.

OH!

No special occasion for at least a month, I had no idea what was up.  The box was really heavy.

I could not believe what was under that wrapping.

A NEW LAPTOP! My old one is from 2005 and doesn’t keep up with my activities very well.  This thing is incredible! It has many new features and so much more space! Is this really happening? Did I just get a new laptop because he knew how much I would love it?

“A little inspiration?” he asked, knowing well the answer.

EDIT: Shared Windows 7 Tips and tricks can be found HERE. I don't recommend them all so ask if you have questions. Several of these really sped me up! I love tweaking.

Additionally, I like having the double-blinking activity lights which can be acquired HERE.

***

Given how high and lush the rye grass grew she never fathomed it ever drying out. Unfortunately, after losing something precious in its dense valley she found her thoughts in Barren Space. Crouched down behind a dune, she remained still long enough to hear painful echoes between madness and reality. The weather had changed and this was home.

She did not like her visions of the dammed but did contemplate many similarities between decay and humanity, much of which she pretended to be unafraid of during this time. The evolution of those old roots choked her and the only way to stop them was by proving to be of assistance to the dry spell. (This works for disease, hexes, the beliefs of fools and illegal shots.) When the demons got hungry, she got an idea...

and dug up devastation with the most meat clinging to it. Sacrifice. If broken dreams were already dead then what was the harm in their consumption? Most of the food supply she provided was lying near wells where innocence got beaten and hidden - where countless coins fell and no wishes came true - where many horses were led to drink but never did. It became routine to find corpses. Some of the remains belonged to failed fortune and fame. Other bits were so disfigured, so decomposed that she couldn’t remember what it originally was.

So she threw it to the caves.

One ingested toxin at a time, a clearing appeared at evil’s expense. In that, a sight stood out that renewed her faith. There, beside another dry well in another ghost town it gleamed: tall, silver, inherently Good. Good as hers. She retrieved it from the post-apocalypse and from that moment on didn’t just have her heart in the game of survival: she had the tool of the thing manipulating it.

Then she did what anyone else with a dream would do in the desert.

mood: pleased

I have decided that there is a correct way to eat the chocolate covered cherry.

This divine knowledge hit me during a sugar high after scurrying across the lot to retrieve my box of sweets from the drug store. They were about to lower the metal curtain when I gave an exasperated face from the other side of the glass like I desperately needed that one essential thing – which I very well did. She granted me access.

“Can I point you in the right direction?”

“Yes! I’m supposed to get a box of chocolate covered cherries [for my happiness]!”

For some reason, a good cherry is hard to find. It seems that stores have decided to only carry what will routinely sell to the mainstream: the cheap-ass Queen Anne and the best of the worst, Cella’s variety. This goes to show that many Americans are broke and tasteless. Whatever kind you are able to get your hands on, do look for the packaging with individually wrapped cherries.

Once you have removed the foil, pause a moment to flatten it between your fingers and fold it in half or even quarters. Such a delicious candy deserves distinction from the crinkled balling of the Hershey’s Kiss wrapper. Lie, as if there is no particular end result in mind. Like maybe you aren’t entirely focused. This is a display of restraint and control, and is admittedly easier after you’ve done it a few times.

Next is the key to all that I am saying: No matter the size or brand, you must take more than one bite. It doesn’t matter if you nibble off the top with the precision of a surgeon or tear into the first half in some dripping mess. So long as your first bite leaves something left for your tongue, you are on the right path.

It’s all about feeling the energy of the moment at the very center.

mood: calm

I saw an angel come down unto me

In her hand she holds the very key

Words of compassion,

Words of peace

And in the distance, an army’s marching feet

But behold: we will watch them fall.

***

A year-in-review is practically a duty at Live Journal. Many recollections begin with the conclusion. ‘This year was bittersweet’, or, ‘this was one of the best years, yet’. For those who have trouble finding the form there is an outline that floats around from blog to blog: Did anyone close to you die this year? What did you do, for the first time in 2000-whatever?

For me, personally, 2011 sorta stood out there, among the clump of years it resides beside. And yes, I’m playing that down. The difference with this one, warranting it a particular bookmark, is that it took me off the course I was on and put me on another one. It wasn’t so much that the determining factors were new because I dealt with the same elements that have been in my life forever… but this time, they appeared in such a way that demanded I deal with them.

Duties in the new year insist you don't look back and allow you, even with only a matter of hours left, to address those things you are leaving behind before following through. Speak now or forever… there is that word, again. To prepare for the concept of compartmentalized time (past that does not equal future) I archived my entries from the point where I left off, seven years ago.

Seeing my life laid out before me in simple, accessible pieces, the patterns and contents became very clear to me.

Seven is not a curse. It is a number, it is everywhere, and it is precisely what you make of it. Never again will I feed the appearance of a number with the association of damnation. I am going to change that habit and I will see that it becomes what it was always meant to be – a reward for having survived it.

Something happened to me when I was a teenager that left me confused and confined. There was a pain and a promise that I carried with me into my adult life and it found ways to influence the choices I made. I can see it woven into the days I was living, intertwined with the people who love and care about me – that is incredible but very scary. No amount of passion or intelligent thought (conflicting as those two become) can fix an issue you have buried... but that is what I tried to do with a few mounds of dirt.

Trying, even without trying, to silently convey something over and over again in the story that is your life. What are the lyrics? How many sharps or flats does it have? This has become my passion. I go looking for it, in other people’s eyes, so that I can take their hand and sing it back.

Have you ever loved someone and watched that person die? Do you ever see her, do you ever see him, in your dreams? Does the corpse ever rise from the earth, dancing before your eyes? Suppose you were so lucky, and you were standing in that graveyard in front of the impossible. You tell me; what have I done?

What would you do?

Year-In-Review.

I will never be able to erase the guilt or avoid the consequence. All I can say for myself is that… whenever I thought I saw that promise again, I embraced it and the pain disappeared. And for a moment, even as reality and morality were burrowing into my conscience, it felt like I was free forever.

Then I went to court. I lost my job. I bailed my brother out of jail. I have been on trial since January, in a series of firsts. I came clean about the details of my manic relationship with a man (who I have only known online) because I could not go back to the way things were when all of the cryptic words belonged to him.

The man had a name, a secret life, and he had me. He knew this. He knew what they meant. And he did things with all three that we will disagree about. That was his decision. Mine was to willingly be in the same dark realm and stay emotionally brave about it. Just letting it go with the usual anger and frustration before shrugging it off as The Big Unknown was always my worst move; I needed to look behind the curtain. My belief system depended on it.

I am so sorry for any of the facts that I got wrong, even more sorry for those that I got right, and I can only hope that you try to understand how that was someone who had already been taken to heart and had never been cast out. He took away his light, took away his family I had gotten to know and care about, so I did what I would do for anyone important to me: I went searching and suffered through it. Again. I'll always turn to Faith when I can't see. I will wish for their unity and happiness, forever - that is my pain and my promise... no matter how things look once that clock strikes midnight.

To them, to you, to us, I dedicate a very special new year.

We will see a plague and river of blood

And every evil soul will surely die in spite of

Their 7 tears, but do not fear

For in the distance, twelve souls from now,

You and me will still be here –

mood: grateful

Corby, my good kitty.

For the first time since Grandpa’s death, my aunt and grandmother picked apples from the orchard and gave a bushel to my mother. They were baked into our Christmas pies and turned out to be amazing. How I miss, miss, miss that man. It was so touching to know that my family was able to carry on an aspect of his legend.

Mom made a simple but delicious honey butter for the rolls that had me filling up on bread. She spent all of this time on cranberry something-or-other, homemade stuffing and all that, and I was like, “Chris pass me the rolls!” about five times during dinner.

Dutbutt (The Duchess) and Gigi were presented with various toys that rolled and squeaked, which drove them nuts with excitement.

My Christmas loot was shocking, as I hadn’t anticipated being treated like ‘one of the kids’ this year. I got a bag filled with comfort clothes: those ultra-fuzzy pajama pants that feel like fluffed fleece, silky fuzzy socks, a scarf laced with silver that ranges from grey to black and a wonderfully, ridiculously Russian faux-fur hat with ear flaps.

It’s a newer tradition, to get me a big fuzzy hat every year. I wear them indoors a lot, for my own happiness, and it makes others laugh in the process. When I lifted it out from the box Gigi saw it as an attractive stuffed animal intended for her and she tried to take it from me.

Another present, perhaps worthy of the eye-roll, was an imported Tamagotchi from Japan. Remember those little egg-shaped toys that had a virtual pet on the screen? You had to feed it, play with it and clean its shit or it would die? Well, Japan never overcame the craze and now they make fancy ones with color displays. I got the special ‘PinkxGold Tamagotchi iD’ and have been carrying it around with me, taking care of it.

There was a time when my parents were in rocky territory and Dad’s mom insisted that a ‘fancy bottle of perfume’ would make everything okay. Being a senior citizen of different times, she naturally recommended an older lady scent: White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor. Ever since then, when special occasions arise, Dad has presented us with that perfume because no one has the heart to correct the situation by coming forward and admitting that White Diamonds is, simply, awful.

I shot my mother a knowing glance and thanked Dad for the scented lotion. Then I turned around and re-gifted it to my boyfriend’s mother – it might actually mask the smell of her cigarettes! Mom made sure to slip Britney’s new bottles, Elizabeth Arden scents, into my pile of goodies. She knows I like the good stuff.

Speaking of good stuff, there is a new bakery in Owosso that is negotiating for recipes from a business that called it quits years ago. It seems that many gems from White’s Bakery are coming back to this new place, including my family’s favorite. The extinction of ‘The Triangle’ was always such a shame in my father’s eyes; I’m so glad to hear the news of something classic being resurrected in time for Dad to experience again.

I have to admit: it was the sort of feel-good harvest that made me want to curl up in my family’s home, holding on to all of my toys in a greedy clasping hug and just smile, forever.

mood: cold

Prerequisite (never am I simple): This is technically part two of Males Of the Hour, in which I address the concept of our preserved 'Christmas Season' from the eyes of an adult that were once a child's. To add to the complexity this scenario started in 2003 when I found myself a bit forlorn, at the watchtower in my private universe.
***

Why do we come together every year, like this? What of the things to remember and the things to be forgot?

Elves crawl out from their shadowy corners with the faces of children. The crooner’s piano sits, dusty and warped.

Dear Santa,

Please sit next to me.

Ebenezer offers his jacket. Fred offers his Fruity Pebbles. The reindeer’s nose begins to light the room with a glowing red. We all have our own ways of giving everything we have.

This is one private little moment in a boundless place and you may have it.

A Merry Christmas to you, (click to download song)

I hope to see you soon.

-Autumn May

P.S. For those of you who are wondering, that is me, singing at the piano. There are so many Christmas songs; I wanted to be a part of that and offer something.

mood: giggly

Last night we had dinner out with Brad’s sister and family. I had thought of Brad’s nephew, Zack, ahead of time and packed my hand held console along with a few CDs that I thought he might like. They made a signature garlic cheese dip that everyone goes crazy over and drinks were served later on. I passed on the alcohol.

Zack showed me some of the features on my Nintendo DSI XL and I ended up spending the night playing video games while everyone else did their own thing. There is an Invader Zim channel on the Flipnote application, where people make short little animations and share them. I showed Zack Invader Zim a few years ago and his parents protested; apparently now it’s okay to like things that are cool because he has every episode recorded and proudly states it as his favorite show (despite its short run). We laughed over the fanvid creations.

“Care to join the adults?” Brad asked, his head peeking around the door.

Hooked to the internet for the first time I also tried out the photos-to-Facebook option and downloaded the (temporary offer) free game Zelda: Four Swords. Then we worked on playing the I.Zim theme some by ear, recorded it onto his keyboard and added beats and chords until it had that awesome video game sound